


Persephone in the Underworld (A Christmas Tale)

by Kaylar990



Category: Firefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:15:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaylar990/pseuds/Kaylar990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mal and Zoe are on an outer moon; they have a cargo of parts they just need to collect. It happens to be Christmas and Mal doesn't want to hear anything about a holiday he hates. Zoe just wants to be home with Wash. But at least it's a simple job - even legal. What could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Persephone in the Underworld (A Christmas Tale)

Persephone in the Underworld

l.

Mal and Zoe stood at the designated rendezvous spot but the Scotsman was late. There was little around them but low, scoured hills and boulders; all coated in the same oxide dust that coated their boots and colored the horizon. The land was strafed with asteroid hits and shimmering hot but the temperatures would drop well below freezing when night fell. A shrill cry from the dry air above them; a hawk or one of those screeching flying lizards circled in the distance. Mal shifted on one foot and then the other and sniffed the air and then took pause.

                “Zoe?”

                “Sir?”

                He glanced at her. “Are you wearing some kind of … scent?”

                “Perfume, Sir.”

                “Oh – perfume.” He glanced again. “You… buy it last time in a town?”

                “No Sir. It’s a gift.”

                He looked at her.

                “It’s Christmas Sir.”

                They were silent. The world around them was still except for another forlorn screech in the air distant. Mal squinted into the horizon. “They’re late. I don’t like it. You know, I don’t hold much truck with holidays, this one in particular.”

                “I know Sir.”

                “I didn’t get you or anybody anything.”

                “I know Sir, it’s alright. No one expects anything.”

                From behind one of the low hills rose a faint cloud of the red dust and there came the sound of hooves. Then, leisurely winding from behind the hill, came a pair of riders and a mule, bumping along in no apparent hurry, the horses’ heads bobbing and looking for anything possibly edible.

                Mal frowned and cleared his coat from the front of his gun holster. Zoe’s hand already rested on the pommel of her Winchester. “They don’t seem to be carrying anything resembling our shipment. So… what you get him?”

                “My husband?”

                He glanced sidelong at her. “Of course. “

                She shaded her eyes and peered through the rising dust. “Socks.”

                “Socks?” He snorted. “Really? Socks.”

                Zoe looked over at him slowly, one eye brow distinctly arched. “Something wrong with socks?”

                “Nooo! Nothing wrong with socks. Real romantic, socks. Just thinking that a man might sort of want …something like a … pair of…“ he noticed she was not joining in and decided to stop right where he was with that sentence.

The riders drew closer. One of the men slouched in his saddle with his left leg slung over his right. Behind him came his compatriot, smaller and substantially dirtier with a mustache of grime under his nose and apparently few teeth. He sat straight in his saddle but kept an arm braced on the rump of his horse to do so. Neither appeared armed or at least had arms drawn but neither did they carry cargo or crates of any kind.

                “This is not good.” muttered Mal.            

                “Cap’n Reynolds!” called out the first man in not unfriendly tones. “You didn’t tell us you’d be Plus One. Greetings to you both, Sir and Fine Madame - joy and bliss be on your respectable households all.”

                “Excuse me?”

                “Captain, I do not like this one bit.”

                “My name is Viv and my very esteemed associate,” he swept an arm vaguely to his left as the other tipped a rusty black hat and gurned at them “-- is Aid and it will be our very distinct pleasure to escort you en suite to our other esteemed associate and mutual acquaintance, our own Mr. MacEwan – where he awaits you to offer you very merry libations and com-stables.” He smiled broadly having completed his oration and tried to sit up right on his hose which made the beast stir restively.

                “I’ll sort this out.” Mal said to Zoe. “Now listen, I have zero time for your holiday; we are here on business and the sooner you bring out our arranged goods the better it will be – especially for the two of you.”

                Aid rode up behind him, marginally sober and began soothingly. ”What my friend is saying is that the details of the purveyance have altered ever so slightly and would you please be so kind as to come with us to complete the said transaction at our estate.”

                “Cave actually.”

                “It’s a very nice cave.” Aid glanced at Viv with a vexed expression.

                Mal crossed his arms. “I am not moving from this spot until you bring me the items I arranged with the Scotsman to have here, now.”

                “Well, it is just that transportation, because of the extremely volatile nature of the goods is -“

                “The … volatile nature of ….PORCELAIN IGNITION BOXES?”

                Aid rubbed his head beneath the hat uncomfortably. “Well, indeed yes, and that was to have been the …merchandise… as you say…originally and might still be the case except for a very golden opportunity and you will see, quite advantageous opportunity arising it were, from out of nowhere…but if I may please explain that for mitigating but fortuitous circumstances, we have, or I should say, our Company have found themselves in possession of goods that although somewhat more…unstable …they are by FAR more valuable that I think that if you would be so kind as to please accompany us …to a little further destination, we may all complete our arrangements to mutual liking and proceed with our merriments as the hour has indeed grown long and the evening approaches.“ He took a deep breath, looked a little confused and tipped his hat again.

Viv tried to turn his horse towards the conversation which only made it turn completely backwards in the direction they had come.

                This brought about a stalemate of sorts.

                Mal leaned to Zoe spoke low.“Look. Obviously the plan seems to have changed but if there is cargo like they say, a better deal ... “

                “A more dangerous deal by the sound of it and I don’t like it.”

                “Well, thing is, Wash isn’t back for 4 hours and he’s on the dark end – no communicating for at least three hours.”

                Zoe sighed. If only communications weren’t so primitive on this junker moon.

                “We can take care of ourselves and besides; I know the Scotsman. We go back a ways.”

                “Now I really don’t like it.”

                “Well, here we are, we might as go and see what this is about.” Mal raised his voice. “Okay. We are your …guests. Now how do you gentlemen propose we go?”

                Aid and Viv exchanged a glance. “It’s a fact we were only expecting one – begging your pardon Miss - but I am sure this mule will be happy to accommodate you both.”

                Mal was already shaking his head. “No my friend, rather I think this horse –“ he strode up, took the reins of Aid’s mount and looked up at him pleasantly. “…will do nicely.” He smiled. “You wouldn’t ask esteemed guests to arrive at your party on a mule now, would you?”

                Aid thought about this for a moment while attempting to twist his face into some form of polite expression though not quite accomplishing a smile. He slowly slipped off his mount and relinquished the reins.

                Viv, unaware of his compatriot’s dilemma, swept his arm forward in a grand manner. “This way,” as his horse was already heading back in the direction it had come.

                “That’s right Friends, lead on and stay about ten paces ahead of us. Just so we can see you.” Mal pressed forward in the saddle and grasping Zoe by the arm, swung her up behind him.

                Aid, after waiting the length of time it took to determine that he would, in fact, not be riding his own horse, reluctantly pulled the mule and climbed on, nudging it ahead.

                “Hope we aren’t looking at too long a trip...” Mal turned his face towards Zoe”…a little tight here in the saddle here. Married life adding a few – oof”

                He gasped as he felt a sharp jab with something very hard in is ribs, halting the comment in mid-sentence for want of air.

 

Ferg MacEwan, or the Scotsman, was a terse, compact man, with grey mutton chops, grey eyes behind wire rim glasses. He was dishonest as they come and proud of it. Mal liked him, generally speaking, and found him to be trustworthy just as long as you never left him with the keys, combinations or reins to anything you might deem the least bit valuable. MacEwan was leaning back now behind a large desk holding a stemmed glass and swirling an amber fluid in its bowl. He held a smoky cheroot in the other and his feet were propped comfortably on couple of old books.

                “So I think you are telling me this.” Malcolm took a breath. “Instead of a safe, lucrative and actually LEGAL cargo of starter boxes as agreed upon, you have now a highly explosive, highly dangerous and highly ILLEGAL tank of liquid hydrogen that you want to fob off on us because it could blow you sky high at any moment.”

                The Scotsman nodded vigorously, pleased to have been so readily understood.

                Mal sighed and swept his hand to his side arm. “It is going to be such a shame to shoot you today; especially on your little holiday.”

                The Scotsman merely chuckled. “Sit down Malcolm and have a drink with me. You know, the quality I admire best you has always been your grand imagination – good and bad. It’s such a beautiful heist that you of all people should admire it and its profitability.”

                Clearly there was no short explanation forthcoming and Malcolm finally sat in the chair opposite.

                “It’s a beautiful and fortuitous circumstance –“

                “I keep hearing this phrase.”

                “- a chance encounter, one in a million. A contraband tank of liquid hydrogen; illegally distilled on Orion, confiscated by the Alliance.”

                “And where would such enterprising people such as yourself get your hands on this?”

                McEwan swung his legs off the desk and peered over at Mal, eyes bright behind the rims of his glasses. “There are folks who watch these Alliance tips and sometimes when something of value shows up they manage to, shall we say, they rearrange its destination before the contents are spilled.”

                “I see. These ‘folks’ like, you?”

                 “Oh god in heaven no. We’d be insane.”

                 “Well, that is the first believable sentence I’ve heard all night.”

                 “Nay, we merely stepped in and rearranged the rearrangement. Let’s say, redirected the shipment. And it was all very clean. No casualties. None to speak of.” Here he looked at the stub of his cheroot and finding it had gone out, rubbed it in an ashtray made of an old land mine.

                  “So this fuel was from Orion.” Mal said.

                   The Scotsman looked aggravated and muttered. “Can’t trust those sods on Orion. They distill lakes of the stuff and bring Alliance revenuers down on everyone’s heads.”

                   “So it is a bootlegged, confiscated, dumped, stolen and then hijacked –“

                   “Please. Intercepted.”

                   “Tank of …something.”

                   “An entire tank of liquid hydrogen! Enough to fuel a craft like yours for over a year – depending of course on where you go or, should you choose, sell at a handsome price. I tell you, it’s clean living and hard work that benefit self-employed folks such as ourselves. “

                    “I suppose there is little point in asking what happened to our original, agreed upon, and I should say, PAID FOR cargo?”

                    “Ah Malcolm, you’re passing up the caviar waiting for your tacos.”

                    “And YOU have it and mean to peddle to us at an obscene price tag. Am I correct?”

                   MacEwan pressed his hand over his heart with a look of hurt. “You cut me to the quick! Such a mistrustful mind! No, Malcolm, I don’t intend to ask you any more money than what was already agreed on. It’s only fair trade between us business men.”

Mal raised an eyebrow.

                “Yes, my friend.” He leaned forward and poured some amber liquid from what looked to be an ancient and dusty bottle into a remarkably clean glass. “And worth almost as much …” he raised his eyes and looked over the rims of his glasses, “almost as much … as this ancient scotch I am happily pouring for you, compliments of the season.”

                “You can keep your holiday wishes to yourself and this …” he eyed his glass suspiciously having not seen the Scotsman actually provide his own drink from the bottle on the desk.

                “Go on! It’s better than that Baiiju* swill we get mostly these days.”

                Mal still eyed it closely.

                “Ah don’t be daft man -- it’s fucking Christmas.” That was the Scotsman; cursed old school. He sighed in obvious disgust. With that, he snatched the glass from Mal’s hand, took a large swallow and then expelled a warm aromatic breath in his direction. “Pure poison! And here I will list the effects for you. My eyesight will soon be doubled. In an hour or two I’ll have the uncontrollable urge to sing inappropriate songs and in the morning I’ll have a pounding head and churning stomach --- and YOU my friend, will be absolutely, bloody SOBER.”

                They stared fiercely at one another and then at the same instant burst into laughter.

 

Outside Zoe heard the laughter and tensed slightly, her back braced against the cold stone wall. She watched as people began arriving in the cavern, in twos and threes, most carrying baskets or parcels, some with bottles all of which they set on a long wooden table. A large glass punch bowl sat prominently center as several people poured liquids into it and tasted with judicious expressions. She looked up to the ceiling where boughs from some immense tree had been fastened with rope and were now festooned with swags of gold and crimson fabric. It was growing dark outside and the travelers now arriving shivered as they entered and shook out their coats. From the corner wheezed the few notes from a large wooden box with pedals and pumps. A beng-guando** she figured. Someone began tuning up an old dry fiddle.

                If anyone saw her they did not acknowledge it but proceeded with the important business of setting up food and testing the contents of the punch bowl. Small communal groups began to take form; the men with smokes, some of the women in small circles casting quick glances at the men. A knot of children ran in and collided with the table; they were scolded gently and sent off with sweets. She watched as one small boy with gold-red hair and a spray of freckles across his nose ran in between the clusters of adults. If she and Wash were to have children, she wondered if they would look anything like this boy. It occurred to her that she had no idea how he felt about children; they so rarely encountered any.

 

The Scotsman leaned in on his elbows. “We obviously cannot haul this over terrain with horses or wagons.”

                “And you suggest?”

                “As I was saying, we cannot haul this overland, ergo, I suggest, you co-ordinate with your ship and have them land here.”

                “Here. As in…”

                “We have a nice little landing patch where you can set your ship down easy like; just on the side of our cozy little cave. Have your vehicle land there and we will assist in loading the tank.”

                 Here Malcolm stopped him. “And now I think I smell the trap.”

                The Scotsman blinked.

               “Sure. We just land and while me and my crew wrangle this explosive barrel of fuel we suddenly hear ‘hands up and down on the ground’ where, I imagine, you then ‘intercept’ my boat.”

                MacEwan then suddenly smashed both fists onto the top of his desk and roared. “Fucking bloody hell Reynolds! Would you just have another fucking drink and work with me?”

                Zoe was in the room the very next second, her rifle cocked and aimed directly at the Scotsman’s head. “Everything alright in here, Sir?”

                Both men automatically raised their hands in the air.

                “--everything is fine; gun down! Stand down Zo!” Mal patted the air gently. “Just a little loud talk going on is all.”

                She lowered the rifle slightly. “So all is good, right Sir?”

                 “All is good! Really, it’s good. We’re just getting the details of the arrangement worked out. Why don’t you have something to eat and drink?”

                 “I’m fine Sir.” She looked the Scotsman over carefully and then retreated back out the door.

                If he was rattled, MacEwan covered nicely by topping up both their glasses. “Your Copper Penny there has a sharp eye with that pea shooter.”

                “Yes,” said Mal accepting his refill. “And she can put your eye out with that pea shooter about as fast as it would take you to draw yours.”

                The warmth of the room and the wheezing music from outside created small zone of peace and the thin veneer of what is companionship among drinkers settled upon them. Sometimes Mal grew tired of lying, tired of hearing and uncovering lies. Sometimes things just were as they were. He rubbed his forehead. “She watches out for me pretty well. She doesn’t mean to be rude; she’s pining is all. Got herself hitched a little ways back and is probably sore being away …I suppose especially with this holiday thing.”

                “Ah, no shame in folks wanting to be with loved ones this time of year.”

                “I have no desire to hear anything more about this sentimental, religious, superstitious nonsense.”

                “No religion here Malcolm. This is purely the old stuff; old before any of that new religious stuff. Could be superstitious though. And I’ll give you sentimental. ”

                “Whatever. The War took my holidays away from me and I don’t like being reminded of things it’s taken me a lifetime to forget.”

                “I’ll not wrestle any of your demons today Malcolm. Why don’t we just drink to the old wood and the fire.”

                “I’ll drink to that. I’ll drink to your fire.”

                They tipped their glasses. “To the fire.”

 

Outside Zoe returned to her post, a little embarrassed and decidedly colder. Just stepping into the stuffy office with the fumes of scotch and cigar smoke gave her a headache and she watched the festivities, now in full swing, with a degree of bitterness. She looked among the revelers for the red haired boy but could not find him amongst the crowd. Wash. She sighed. I just want to get home.

                                                               

ll.                                                            

Serenity arrived at the designated rendezvous spot at exactly the arranged time and lowered the ramp onto a dark landscape. As the dust cleared Wash and Kaylee saw Zoe standing at the base, supporting Mal who was very still and slumped at her side.

                “Holy Mother of all gods!!” Wash cried and he and Kaylee scrambled down the ramp in alarm.

                 Mal looked up with a bleary smile. “Hello! My faithful crew! At ease!”

                “Captain!? Are you hurt?!”

                “Zoe – what happened?!”

                “AT EASE I said! Man! Do I have a panicky crew!”

                “Zoe?” Wash looked distressed and confused. “Where are the ignition boxes?”

                “KAYLEE!” Mal cried as if seeing her for the first time that evening. “I have a present for you – something that YOU are going to love! Merry Christmas!!” he turned to Zoe and grinned. “I believe I am regaining my joy of the season.”

                “We need to go Sir.” She looked pointedly at Wash. “RIGHT. NOW.”

                There were times Wash could be a beat behind on the uptake but he took one look at Zoe’s face and bolted for the bridge.

                “Captain?” Kaylee looked confused.

                Drawing himself up and out of Zoe’s grip he thrust two tightly corked bottles of an amber fluid into Kaylee’s arms. “For you! ROCKET FUEL!!” he crowed in triumph making unsteady progress up the ramp.

                Kaylee studied the labels of the bottles and then turned to look at Mal in happiness. “This is Scotch! Really old Scotch!! Captain!! Thank you, Captain!” she ran to give him a kiss which he tried to reciprocate a little too enthusiastically. Zoe shoved him up the rest of the way and onto the deck.

                “…yer welcome. Let’s just say I redirected their original direction. And you know what I’m gonna give Wash?” he turned to Zoe and appeared startled to see her so close. “I’m gonna give him this next shift off. He deserves it. You two can have a little ...” he twirled his hand in the air “…seasonal dinner. And I’ll take the helm!”

                “That’s kind of you, Sir but let’s stow the cash in your bunk first.”

                Kaylee looked up from her precious bottles. “Zoe? Where’s the cargo?”

                Mal raised a finger in the air. ”We have come away with so much more than cargo. You know, Kaylee, this time of year you should be a little more…shpiritual.”

                Kaylee now helped support Mal as Zoe slammed closed the lift gate and the hull of the ship began to vibrate with the engines gunning to life.

                Zoe turned and grabbed Mal’s other side. “We should get strapped in. I think my husband is going to hot dog this.”

                They made their way with all speed possible to the deck away from the cargo hold and Kaylee leaned behind Mal’s head and whispered, “So does he mean… we have no ignition boxes? “

                “I can hear you women whispering behind my back and I want you to know that I am perfectly sober.”

                “What’s better than cargo?” Kaylee whispered.

                Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “A full refund.”

 

lll.                             

                 “Request permission to enter the bridge.”

                  Wash turned in his chair to the door and smiled at Zoe. “Permission granted.” He held up a roll of socks still tied in a bow of cotton twill then pressed them to his lips and kissed the socks with a loud smack. “Thank you – they are perfect.” She came and sat in the console chair next to his and reached over for his hand.

                “I know how cold you can get up here sometimes.”

                 He patted his lap with an inviting gesture. “Come. Sit on me.” She climbed into his lap and her head against his chest. “So, how many people did you shoot today, Dear?”

                 "I didn’t shoot anyone, Dear. I simply completed a transaction with a display of superior fire power. They tried to sell us a tank of rocket fuel that was really nothing more than… a tank of rancid scrumpy*** .”

                 “I’ve heard scrumpy called that before. You were perhaps hasty, my love, with your firearm.”

                  She gave his chin a mild cuff and then settled back into his lap.

                  “Was it really scrumpy?”

                  She had to scrutinize his face to be sure he wasn’t kidding. He wasn’t. “You are so adorable. “ She placed her hands on either side of his head, giving it an affectionate shake then stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. “No, it wasn’t scrumpy. It was some sort of…” she trailed off. “I have no idea what it was. It doesn’t even matter. What I simply do not understand is why the Captain still has anything to do with that old crook. It always goes south. Always!”

                Wash shrugged. “It’s a guy thing. It’s a game called ‘ Who Can Fool Who First’. They enjoy it. And it’s not like the Scotsman is that bad a guy.”

                “Oh please, not you too. That old criminal sold our cargo – if there ever was any and then tried to pass off a tank of –“

                Wash raised his eyebrows. “We could have had scrumpy for Christmas.”

                “Pah.” She said in distaste and settled back onto his chest.

                “Anyway, it looked like it was probably a swell party. Did you eat anything good? Drink? The Captain enjoyed himself.”

                “I didn’t touch a thing.”

                Wash chortled his merriment. “Not a seed passes her lips! My iron goddess! Then you never will have to return to that nasty place ever again. Good job my stalwart one!”

                “I wanted to be with you.” She said in a somewhat petulant tone.

                He began pretending to eat the back of her neck, growling.

                 “Stop it.” She scrunched her shoulders up but she was smiling despite herself. “I’m serious.”

                 “I am serious too. I have razor sharp teeth, the better to deflower you-- “ he buried his face in her curls and then re-emerged. “I mean devour you.”

                “My love,” she pushed his face back and held his gaze.

                He bared his teeth as if to display huge fangs. “Hoban!” She gave him a soft rap on the forehead and he settled down and just let his arms surround her. They were still.

                “I love you.” He whispered.

                “I love you too.” He felt warm and smelled a little of sweat; he had been in the pilot’s chair for over twelve hours. She inhaled deeply and felt a wave of relaxation descend over her. “I’ll always come back to you.”

“You had better.”

“And I’ll always find you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She pressed her lips against his cheek. “No matter where you go, I will always find you.”

He thought of something funny to say and then he fretted his brow, a little puzzled and thought, one day, he just might need finding. He nodded solemnly and said, “I know you will.”

They were silent and together watched the stars, far away, cold and bright.

 

*Bajiiu - a cheap commercial grade cooking wine high in alcohol content and often fortified with any sort of fruit or sugar to make it palatable.

**A beng-guando – an instrument found mostly on the outer planets and is a combination of pump organ and bagpipe thus explaining its popularity with the Scotsman.

***Scrumpy – a rough and cloudy first stage cider that is also especially high in alcohol content

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Bajiiu - a cheap commercial grade cooking wine high in alcohol content and often fortified with any sort of fruit or sugar to make it palatable.
> 
> **Beng-guando – an instrument found mostly on the outer planets and is a combination of pump organ and bagpipe thus explaining its popularity with the Scotsman. 
> 
> ***Scrumpy – a rough and cloudy first stage cider that is also especially high in alcohol content


End file.
